A Boat Made of Bone (The Chthonic Saga) (2 page)

The rope bumped the bottom of the carabiner, but didn’t snap through the gate. Kate’s left hand spasmed with the strain of holding her against the angled wall and opened.

She was falling.

“Take, take!” she screamed as she tumbled through the air, her body heavy like a sandbag. There was that deceptive moment where she felt as weightless as a beam of light, and then the cold claws of gravity gripped her, yanked her down, and swung her violently back against the rough side of the mountain. It knocked the wind out of her and bruised her shoulder and ribs. Sometimes she was able to get her feet out to catch herself. Not this time.

She grunted. Her head jerked as she bounced on the end of the rope. With a frustrated curse, she took a breath, feeling beaten not just by life, men, and her traitorous dreams, but now also by the mountain.

“You alright?” Audra called from below. “That was close, Kate. You almost had it. Closer than you’ve ever been!”

Kate sighed and dangled there, feeling defeated, bumping into the cliff as she swayed back and forth, spinning and twisting in her harness on the end of the rope. “Yeah, thanks.” It was almost a mumble. She cursed again and slapped the rock as it loomed near her.

“Want to come down? Try again some other time? I mean, this is your fourth route for the morning. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to call it a day.” 

Kate bit her lip and watched the shallow river tumbling by beneath her. Someday she’d redpoint the route, lead it without falling. Maybe today she didn’t do that. But today also wasn’t a day for giving up. No way. She would finish. She glanced at her pink Timex Ironman watch: 9:44. She didn’t have to be at work till one.

“Not coming down, to quit, Auds. Gonna start again. Lower me,” she directed her friend.

“Really? You know I have work at noon?” Audra shouted. “But no big deal.” Kate could hear the irritation in her best friend’s voice and laughed. Audra would do the same thing, and probably would before this little climbing jaunt was over.

2: Suga’s

“This is a cool record store, man.”

The voice drifted through the rows of CD and vinyl. Kate glanced up. A boy, probably still in high school, maybe a year into college at most. Black, dyed hair, a smidgeon of dark eyeliner, ultra-tight gray skinny jeans, and a tank top. He was well on his way to being a total hipster.

Scott Fergusen, Ferg, was ringing him up at the counter in the front of the store next to the door while Kate toiled amidst the racks of CDs and records in the box-shaped shop. The walls were a bit yellowed where they weren’t plastered with movie and band posters. 

“I know,” Ferg said. Every one of Suga’s employees—all six of them—had seen
High Fidelity
multiple times. “I know” was their favorite answer to any compliments about the store or their taste in music. It seemed only natural that they adopted the arrogant manner of John Cusack and Jack Black in the film. All of them but Kate, and if Kate did it (which she did from time to time), it was done in jest, to tease Ferg or Audra for being elitist.  

Ferg punched the prices of the used records into the ancient computer register.

“Suga’s. Cool name, too,” the kid said. Kate glanced over her shoulder as she paused in alphabetizing the M rack of used CDs. She could see Ferg’s response coming from a mile off.

“No, no,” Ferg said. “Not ‘Sooga’s,’ like some kind of Indian name. Suga’s, like sugar with a relaxed R, because this is Sugar Village, right?” He was talking about the borough of the city that held Suga’s. It was also where Kate lived, along with a hefty portion of other modern and hip post-college graduates.

“Oh, right, yeah,” the kid said, brushing his indie-kid haircut off his forehead and trying to appear casual.

“That’ll be $64.54,” Ferg told him, arching his eyebrow and cocking his head to one side without even a glimmer of a smile. Kate shook her head—sometimes Ferg scared people, which was bad for business. He did it anyway.

“Whoa, I guess I should have been adding in my head,” the kid said with an embarrassed laugh. Kate suppressed a surge of pity—she always felt bad for the weak who came into contact with Ferg. He preyed on vulnerabilities, like some kind of lion or hyena stalking a herd of gazelle.

Kate turned back to her task. There was nothing she could do now. The kid would have to learn to deal with Ferg if he was going to be a customer here. It was what Kate thought every time Ferg dealt with customers like he had hooves for hands and horns for hair. She shook her head as she found her place on the row of CDs, frustrated that she was still making her way through the M’s. Evidently people who named bands were fond of the letter.

“Adds up quick, for sure,” Ferg said in understanding, redeeming himself at the last minute. Kate sighed quietly in relief. 

The till bell rang as the cash drawer slid open and Ferg pulled out change for the kid.

After Ferg counted it back to him, the kid asked, “So, how much do you guys pay for used stuff?”

“Depends. I can’t even tell you unless you bring it in. It’s based on popularity, rarity, condition of the item, and stuff like that.”

Ferg explained the way trades worked. As Kate could have predicted, the conversation took a bad turn, ending with the kid shoving the door open and leaving with a ticked off “eff-you” at Ferg, who had undiplomatically explained that they took driver’s license numbers in case the kid had stolen the records from his dad.

Once the door was closed, Ferg threw his hands up in the air and exclaimed to Kate, “Well, that was totally uncalled for.” They were the only ones left in the store, the typical afternoon lull.

Kate rolled her eyes. “You were accusing him of stealing from his dad.”

“I say that to all the teeny-boppers. I have to put the fear of God in them or else they think we’re their own personal fence.”

“Fence? What, like sword-fighting?” Kate asked.

“Haven’t you played Skyrim yet? Or any of the Elder Scrolls games?” Ferg scratched his head in dismay.

She shook her head. “On what? You’ve been to my house. We don’t even have a TV.”

Ferg exhaled a long-suffering sigh and cocked his head to one side. “A fence is someone who buys stolen goods and resells them. They’re a middleman.”

“Fascinating,” she said, lying. Video games were like anything else—if you weren’t into them, the subject was dull.

“He was staring at your ass the whole time anyway and it was bugging me,” Ferg said defensively.

“Right.” Kate sniffed and glanced at her reflection in the jewel case of the CD she was filing. Not an awesome face, to be frank. Her blonde hair was too straw-like, but she wore it in a ponytail to make up for that. The freckles that covered her cheeks and nose were the bane of her existence, and the attractive almond shape of her eyes just meant that her irises nearly vanished when she smiled. 

“What?” Ferg asked. “He was.”

“You’re sure he wasn’t checking you out?”

“Look, I’m flattered when our customers go for me, but he was completely drooling over you.” Ferg winked and held his hands out like he was framing a picture with Kate in the center of it.

“Don’t be gross, Ferg,” she said, shaking her head.

“You almost done alphabetizing?” He dropped his hands. “And why do you keep wincing? And why are there streaks of dirt all over your clothes?”

“Well, you win the award for most sensitive boss. I’ll remember to bring you a bouquet of balloons and a mug,” she said drily. He had a way of making her feel nitpicked.

“Huh. Sorry. I didn’t know you were feeling sensitive today.” He opened a CD case and used the reflective disc to check on his brown, carefully mussed hair. He ran his fingers through it lightly, adjusting a few strands as he talked to her. 

“I fell climbing today, thanks. And then my roommate’s attention-starved dog jumped all over me when I went out the back door.” Kate glanced at her shirt and tried to dust the paw marks off. It was useless.

“Easy fix. Go out the front door.” Ferg snapped his fingers like he was coming up with that revolutionary idea. He returned the disc to its case.

Kate closed her eyes. “Yes, thank you. Great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Look, sweetheart, I’m just trying to help you out. Oh, and sorry about falling. Did you smash into the wall or something?” He grabbed a gummy burger candy out of a carefully positioned box on the counter next to the register and opened it.

“Yep.”

“Dislocate your shoulder?”

“Just a bruise. A big one.”

“Almost done alphabetizing?” He put the entire gummy burger in his mouth.

Kate glared. “Not much has changed since you asked me that three minutes ago. I’d be done if you’d do your share.”

“I’ve paid my dues on that crap,” he said, swallowing and shrugging innocently, his eyes wide as though he was under direct orders to not attend to the menial tasks that kept the store a barely-oiled machine. “I don’t get paid the big bucks to alphabetize.”

“Right. You get paid to stand behind the counter, threatening customers.”

“Watch it, girlfriend.”

Kate sniffed and leaned closer to the shelf like she was thinking really hard about the progression of M-o-n- to M-o-o-. She hoped to communicate that she was done with the conversation—it wasn’t like she had all day to finish the alphabetizing task. And being in such a small store made politely avoiding conversations difficult.

Ferg was silent for a bit, but Kate kept her attention on the rack. Looking at him could only encourage more conversation. She concentrated on getting through the M’s. Alphabetizing was today’s task and if she didn’t finish soon, she’d have to try to do it when the store was full of customers later that day. Customers were the last thing she wanted to deal with lately. Tom had been gone three months and since then, the only thing she looked forward to was . . . nothing. Hardly anything. The possibility of meeting someone she could love? She had so little hope of that.

She blinked. There it was, surfacing in her mind, the dream from the night before hovering at the fringes of her conscience. It hung there like a big black cloak, waiting to fall over her and wrap her in its velvet warmth, blocking out reality.

With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes for a moment, reaching for the memory of the dream, eager to close the fingers of her mind around it and hold tight. She wanted to zero in on the face of the man in it, her lover.
Who was he?
For a split second, she saw him—blue eyes, a dimple in his right cheek, dark hair, and a wild, delicious smile.

But like a puff of steam in the cold, his features slipped away before she could discern who he was. No one from her immediate life, anyway.

A dimple. Blue eyes. A smile to die for. That was it.

***

Kate glanced at the clock over the entrance wondering where all the customers were. Ferg had left at five-thirty, and Luke—the closer—hadn’t come in yet. She grimaced and looked back at the music video playing on the LCD TV hanging over the used gaming section. Slow days were interminably long.

The door chime went off as someone came in. “Hey,” Kate said without looking at the customer. She got off the stool and crossed her arms as a chill passed through her. The air conditioner either worked too good or not good enough. This evening it was running on eleven. 

“How’s it going?” the customer—a guy—asked, stopping at the counter. Kate noticed him absently as she checked the clock again. Wait a minute. Her eyes flicked back to the customer and stuck, caught by his angular jaw and bright green eyes. She gulped and backed up, bumping into the stool and nearly knocking it down. She turned and snatched it with both hands, righting it.

“Uh, I’m good, thanks,” she said, turning back to him and smiling. Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears. 

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. He was gorgeous. She didn’t want to stare, but couldn’t help herself. His black hair was styled to be messy, there was a bit of scruff accentuating his stone-carved jaw, and he was flashing a brilliant smile at her like it would solve the energy crisis. He could have been . . . in . . . in an Old Spice commercial. Or something. That was all she could think of. His presence flustered her beyond the levels of deep thinking she usually participated in.

That’s when she realized she’d seen him before—at the climbing gym where she and Audra sometimes hung out on ladies’ night when they got in two-for-one.

He cleared his throat. “So, do you guys have the new Katy Perry on vinyl?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts, “Uh, I know it’s a stretch. Just wondering, though.”

“Sure, yeah, let me show you where it is,” Kate said, walking briskly around the counter and heading into the new vinyl section. 

Katy Perry?
She thought with a quiet groan. Katy Perry was great, for what she was. But seriously? This guy should be listening to hip-hop or hardcore or something. At least, that’s what he looked like. Not poppy Katy Perry. Kate had nothing against her, personally. She was a songwriting, marketing genius, like Taylor Swift. But she was just too happy. There wasn’t enough angst in her music.

Kate stopped halfway down the new vinyl aisle and pulled an album out of the rack and handed it to the guy. He took it and studied the cover, turning it over in his hands to run his gaze over the back. It was a two-disc set, a collector’s item.